


A whisper on the wind

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Death, Family, Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Resurrection, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon, Illya and Agent Crowley are trapped on a bridge in Stasbourg, with no where to run.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes in my Russian.

                 
  
Illya was standing beside his partner, and another agent named Peter Crowley from the London branch, sending off a volley of bullets at the men who were chasing them.  They’d made a wild chase of it through Strasbourg, a city in the northeast of France on the German border in the region of Alsace Lorraine. Now their luck had seemed to run out as the agents were trapped like rats on a bridge between the two towers of the Ponts Couverts, overlooking the Rhine, with no place to retreat and no cover to hide behind.

Had it not been for their dire circumstances, the view would have been serenely spectacular, but there was no time to even think about that.

 

 

 

There was a sudden blinding flash of light, and everything went deathly silent.  The Russian felt himself knocked to the ground from what he assumed was a blast, and when he sat up, everything was clouded, as if a heavy fog had set in.

“Napoleon?” Illya called out, not hearing anything from his partner, Crowley or the men pursuing them. The gunfire had ceased, and it was strangely quiet, with not even the sound the river flowing or leaves rustling in the wind. It was almost as if everything had become frozen in  time.

Illya wondered what sort of chemical compound could cause such an hallucination so quickly and assumed a gas grenade had been set off. He pushed himself to his feet, treading carefully in the mist as he eased himself along the stone bridge.

It was then he heard a voice...it was Napoleon’s, and he sounded very much in distress.

“Dammit! Don’t you leave me! Please don’t leave me?”

When he found his partner, he was leaning forward over someone; Illya guessing it was Crowley. Napoleon was pushing and pounding with chest compressions, obviously trying to save the man’s life.

“Napoleon, do you want me to take over?” Illya asked, but received no answer.  He reached to put his hand on the Americans shoulder, and was shocked; it went right through as if Napoleon were a ghostly apparition.

“This was some mind altering experience,” Illya thought to himself.

He held up one of his hands to his face, studying it carefully. There seemed to be nothing wrong, and it looked as solid as ever. Illya turned back to his partner.

“Napoleon! Can you hear me?” Now desperate, Illya waved his hand in front of Solo’s eyes, but there was no reaction at all.

He looked down at the man on the ground, and gasped. It wasn’t Crowley. He was that man, and Napoleon was trying to save his life.

Illya suddenly felt as if he were weightless, and an invisible hand seemed to be slowly drawing him up into the air.  It was a wonderful sensation as he rose above the scene making him forget he was probably lying dead on the bridge, yet he was still watching Napoleon pounding desperately, trying to revive him.

There was a single sob, “Noooo,” Napoleon groaned, slamming his fist one last time on his partner’s chest, shuddering, as he was sure he’d cracked one of the Russian’s ribs.

Illya continued to rise, and was now as high as the roofs of the bridge towers to the right and left of him.  He could see that beautiful view the river, and the town  growing farther away, and below, the figure of Napoleon Solo leaning over the lifeless body of what was once Illya Kuryakin.

The light above the him was becoming brighter, more focused and he was drawn towards its pureness, more serene and beautiful than the landscape below him, but at the same time, Illya Kuryakin felt conflicted;  part of him didn’t want to go.

There was a presence now, familiar, yet like a faded memory.

“Illuysha moy syn...” a soft voice spoke to him, echoing as if far away.

“Mama?”

“Da.”

“Where are you?”

“Waiting for you in the light. We’re here waiting for you...Papa, your brothers and sister and your grandmother...”

“I want to see you Mama, but my friend needs me. My work is not done yet...”

There was silence.

“Mama lyubit tebya moy syn...go to him.” His mother’s voice resounded in the distance

“I love you too Mama.”

The Russians upward movement ceased, suspending his essence in mid-air until a jolt of pressure hit him and Illya found himself being pulled violently downwards, as if caught in a vortex.

Napoleon stared at his partner’s lifeless face, still not believing he was gone, and gasped as he was startled when Illya’s eyes suddenly opened.  
  
  
“I am here Napoleon,” he whispered. “I could see everything as I drifted towards the light...it was beautiful but it was you who brought me back. I needed to come back.”

Solo let out a relieved laugh, cradling his partner’s head in his lap, not quite sure what the man was muttering about.

“Good for you to be back, tovarisch. Hey, don’t do that again will you...leave that is.”

“I will endeavor to try not to, at least for a while longer.” Illya broke a crooked smile. “Next time, please try not to crack my ribs.” He reached over, holding his side with his hand.

“Sorry about that, but I thought saving your life was a little more important.” Napoleon apologized, helping his partner to his feet.

“As it should be,” Kuryakin muttered facetiously.

“You can’t be in too bad a shape, since you’re already making with the snarky comebacks,” Napoleon said.

Illya was not still quite focused and this time he said nothing. He could not forget the memory of the light, and the softness of his mother's voice.

“Odnazhdy mama, ya pridu k vam...someday Mama, I will come to you,” he whispered to himself.

“YA znayu, chto moy syn. I know my son...” he thought he heard her voice whispering to him on the wind.

They gathered up Crowley, who’d just returned to consciousness, and prepared to scurry away from the bridge while their pursuers were still  out cold.

“Did you set off that explosive tovarisch?”

“Not me...Crowley?” Illya said.

“All I saw was a flash of white light, and strangely, don’t remember any explosion at all. There had to be one though.”

Napoleon took a retreating glance at the bridge and saw no signs of a detonation.  The bodies of the Thrush agents lay strewn about, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

The river was gently flowing, leaves rustling and the birds were singing happily.  “A little divine intervention?” Solo asked, looking at this partner.

Illya simply shrugged as they took off, disappearing to safety down one of the many cobbled side streets of Strasbourg...


End file.
